Charles Sheffield - Starfire

She met his eyes and cleared her throat. “You know, when we were coming up on the shuttle I thought you were sitting there doing nothing.”

“That’s all right. I thought the same about you.”

“But you weren’t doing nothing, were you? You were monitoring the flight performance.”

“That’s right. Monitoring, and estimating. That’s my job, though it doesn’t usually apply to shuttle flights. But you really were doing nothing.”

“No.” Maddy reached out for the drink that he had brought her. It was, thank God, coffee, hot and even drinkable. “I was watching the passengers. That’s my job.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and she knew it at once. He was leaning forward, palms flat on the table and eyes fixed on hers. “It’s odd you should say that. I’ve been wondering since our first meeting, just what is your job? In fact, I don’t really know what anyone does who works for the Argos Group.”

You are my job, you strange, sweet man. I’m assigned to you. Maddy leaned forward also, and by an act of will kept her hands away from his. He, she noticed, had not eaten a bite. “There’s a joke about that in the Argos Group. We say it’s our goal to have a piece of everything, and do nothing. Maybe it’s like your job. You’re a top engineer, but you don’t actually make anything, do you?”

“Not for a dozen years.” He had a broad, full-lipped mouth, and it twisted downward. He didn’t like giving her that answer.

“So what do you do?”

“You saw it today. I look and listen and analyze, then I tell other people to do things.”

“Right. So would you say you’re an engineer, one level removed?”

“Two, really. The people I tell then tell other people, or they instruct the machines. The rolfes do most of the real work.”

“Well, it’s the same with the Argos Group. We’re managers, not engineers, but we bid contracts for major space projects, like the Aten asteroid capture and mining that you’ll — that we’ll be involved in.” Maddy was puzzled. Gordy Rolfe had not told her that she would be involved beyond the initial phase. That we had pushed its way in from nowhere. She added, “But we don’t perform the contracts. We farm them out, to companies who do the actual work.”

“And what do you do?”

“I suppose that I’m like you. I’m a troubleshooter. I keep an eye on things that might go wrong, and I make sure that they don’t. But I don’t mean technical things. You listen to engines. I listen to people. And I watch them, and I steer them. Do you know what I’ve been thinking?”

Maddy was talking more than her share — more than she should — and he wasn’t talking enough. She had seen the file on his background, he was a Scots-Irish mixture, but apparently the taciturn Scottishness came more easily to him than Irish blarney. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem able to shut up. When he shook his head in answer to her question, she went on, “I was thinking that you and I live in two different worlds. Even when we are on the same shuttle flight, even when we sit in seats right next to each other, what we notice is totally different. Your world is mostly engines and numbers and performance levels, mine is mostly people and their interactions and their motives. It makes you wonder, could two people like us live happily together?”

Maddy was far out of her depth. She should not be talking this way, especially to her assignment. She felt one tongue-slip away from inviting him to bed. Gordy Rolfe would skin her if he ever found out, but John was looking intrigued and decidedly puzzled.

Change the subject.

What to?

Anything. Get him talking.

“How long have you been working on Sky City?”

Maddy knew the answer: He had come eleven years ago.

“Eleven years.”

Bad question, if he could get away with two words. “ What made you decide to come here, instead of taking a job down on Earth?”

“Well . . .” One-word answer. Come on, sweetie, you can do better than that. “ Well, you know what they say, the fool of the family goes to space. But down on Earth I trained as an engineer under Giorgio Hamman.” He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for a nod of recognition.

Maddy had never heard of Giorgio Hamman, but John was talking at last. She nodded and repeated, “Giorgio Hamman.”

“Right. Old Giorgio was over eighty when I met him, but he was still the best engineer in the world. I worked with him restoring the big suspension bridges that had been damaged after the supernova, and if I’d been left to myself, I would probably still be doing bridge work. But Giorgio wouldn’t let me. He said, ’Bridge repairs are a good job for an old man, they bring back happy memories. The Messina Strait bridge, now, what that means to me. Hard days and hard nights, sunshine and wine and beautiful girls. But you, young fellow’ — I was young, but I didn’t feel it — ’you, young fellow, you don’t have those memories. You ought to be building memories, to keep you warm in your old age. You must go where the action is. The space shield is the toughest engineering job in the history of the world, and it presents problems and opportunities that no one has ever dreamed of. With the talent that you have, you ought to be out there. So I’m going to do you a big favor.’ ”

John smiled at Maddy. “You know what his ’big favor’ was? Giorgio fired me. It didn’t feel like much of a favor at the time. But he gave me a farewell party that lasted two days, and sent me off with a terrific recommendation to the space shield council. And here I am.”

Building memories, to keep you warm in your old age — / like the sound of that. But I’m not building anything, and I wonder if you are, now that you’re not working on the shield.

You love that old man, don’t you? I bet the thought has never occurred to you. And did you know that when you smile like that, your eyes crinkle at the corners? I bet that has never occurred to you, either.

And I bet you don’t realize there’s not a dry seat in the house when you look at women like that.

Down, Maddy. But keep him talking, so you don’t have to. He’ll do it; you just have to push the right button.

“Is Giorgio Hamman still alive?”

“He’s not only alive, he’s out here in Sky City. He came four years ago, when he hit ninety. Not for the engineering, though — I’ve tried to get him involved in that, but he won’t listen. He says he made a mistake. What we’re doing with the shield isn’t real engineering, the way that the big suspension bridges are engineering. Instead of the cables and girders and caissons that he’s used to, we’re piddling about with robots and computers and strands of gossamer. He says we’re building a spiderweb. The fact that it’s a hundred thousand kilometers long doesn’t change things.”

“If he doesn’t like it, why does he stay on Sky City? Because it’s easier on his heart?”

“Giorgio isn’t worried about his heart. He says a good engineer doesn’t have one. He stays here because he’s sour on Earth. Maybe it’s just an old man’s memories, but the way he tells it, people on Earth before the supernova were different. More easygoing. I pointed out that there were twice as many people back then, but he says that’s not what he means. Half the world died, but it doesn’t explain why the ones who are left are so much tougher and more selfish.”

You’re describing Gordy Rolfe perfectly. Actually, you’re describing the whole Argos Group. And I’m part of it. I’m the hotshot VP, the fastest gun in the place except for Gordy himself. And he’s a disgusting, paranoid little shit.